


Let Me Sleep

by sUNkIsSt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Brotherly Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 23:53:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21382648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sUNkIsSt/pseuds/sUNkIsSt
Summary: Post 15x04 / The visions of Jess dying had started out as dreams, too. Sam is feeling trapped and Dean is getting worried. Brotherly Angst.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Let Me Sleep

** Let Me Sleep **

**.**

**.**

“Sam Winchester.”

Looking up, Sam rubs at his itching eyes and appraises Billie, exhaustion etched on his face. “You know why I called you.” He states, long fingers moving away from his face to drum restlessly against his thigh.

Billie looks around his sparse bedroom, lips pursed in a frown before she nods in confirmation. “You know I can’t help you, Sam.”

“I thought…I needed to be sure.” He explains, voice just barely above a whisper.

“What will you do?” She asks, out of pure curiosity.

Sam shakes his head jerkily, shoulders sagging – he looks like the picture of defeat, but when he meets Billie’s gaze there is nothing but grim determination in his eyes.

“Whatever I need to.”

* * *

**Three Weeks Later**

Dean walks into the library with a sense of purpose, green eyes scanning the room for his little brother. Sam has been reclusive for weeks now, the last hunt had only made matters worse – and Dean isn’t ashamed to admit that he’s starting to get worried.

On the rare occasion that Sam did leave his room, he spent his time entombed in the library, surrounded by a wall of dusty books. When Dean had asked what he was looking for, his kid brother hadn’t given a straight answer. Sam’s refusing his help, his pallor’s getting worse by the day and Dean knows that the stubborn idiot is losing weight again.

Apparently, they were in dire need of a chick flick moment. _That’s fine, _Dean thinks, _whatever we need to do to get him out of this damn funk. _

“Sammy?” He calls out, sighing when silence is his only answer. Dean sets down the two cans of Coke (no beer, the last thing Sam needs is alcohol when he’s running on empty) and moves deeper into the room. He inspects Sam’s workspace, picking up books at random and flipping through the pages, eyes automatically catching the text that is flagged in his brothers’ hand.

He feels his stomach lurch a little when he starts to put the pieces together, green eyes jumping frantically from one book to the next, before he finally lands on the ingredient list tucked between the pages of The Book of the Damned.

_No. _

Dean turns on his heel, the little piece of paper crumpled up in his clenched fist as he runs from the library. He tears down the hall and heads straight for his little brothers’ room, thoughts skipping frantically as he tries to recall the last time he’d seen Sam.

This morning? No…last night?

Yes, it was late – right before Dean had knocked off for bed. He’d tried to get Sam to engage, had shown him a few news articles that might be their kind of thing – but the kid had essentially ignored him, and Dean had given up for the night.

_Enough time to get the ingredients and cast the spell? _He wonders as he slams up against his brothers closed door, he wastes no time with knocking and bursts into the dark room. “Sam!” He barks out, heart thundering in his chest when he sees Sam curled up and apparently asleep. He flicks the switch by the door and light fills the room, but the younger hunter doesn’t so much as twitch.

Blood is pounding in his ears, and Dean can barely hear his own frantic words as he rushes to the bed and shakes his brother forcefully. He feels weak with relief when Sam finally stirs, and he roughly maneuvers the larger man up and shoves him against the cheap headboard. "You little bastard, tell me you didn’t do it.” He hisses, fingers gripping Sam’s chin as he inspects his pupils.

At first, Sam says nothing, his adams apple bobs as he swallows, and he accepts the rough handling without a sound of complaint.

Furious, Dean’s hands move to grip his brother’s shoulders and he gives him another hard shake. “Sam!” He barks out, “You better not have cast that spell, tell me you didn’t!”

“I didn’t do the spell.” Sam replies obediently, but Dean can hear the implied _‘not yet’_ in his tone.

Releasing him, Dean sits back on the bed, trembling hands buried in his lap where his little brother can’t see them. “Why?” He asks unsteadily, “After everything – _why_, Sam?”

One hand runs through sleep tussled hair, and Sam holds his gaze. Dean notes the red rimming his eyes and the dark smudges beneath them and feels a flash of regret, the kid desperately needs sleep – but not…_not that_. “An enchanted sleep, Sammy? Are you kidding me with this shit? Have you lost your mind?!”

“I was gonna talk to you about it first.” Sam defends himself feebly, his voice hoarse, “I just figured out how to do it properly, how to keep me down.”

“_Keep you down?_” Dean snarls, tearing up the crumpled paper in his lap.

“We need to talk, Dean.” Sam whispers, flinching when his brother jerks away from the bed and starts pacing the room.

“So start talking.” The older man snaps, “Cause I’m having a real hard time understanding what the fuck this is, Sam.”

“I’m having visions again.”

Dean freezes when Sam blurts this out and stares a him with a mixture of disbelief and worry. “What?”

Sam avoids his gaze, staring hard at the blankets bunched up in his lap, “Whenever I sleep, usually a variation of the same thing.”

The bed dips when Dean settles back down beside his brother, and he speaks with an air of calm that he doesn’t actually feel, “Nightmares, Sam. I get them too – doesn’t mean they’re visions. Last time you had intense pain and nosebleeds. Any of that this time?”

“No.” Sam mumbles, head jerking from side to side, “But they aren’t just nightmares, Dean. It’s…they feel the same as last time. I told you, all those years ago, don’t you remember? I had dreams of Jess being killed by Yellow-Eyes for weeks before it actually happened.” He looks up, hazel eyes bright with misery and desperation.

A coldness spreads up from the pit of Dean’s stomach, but he shoves it back down ruthlessly and works to keep his voice even, “Okay, if they are visions, and I’m not ready to believe that yet, what are you seeing?” His lips twist when Sam tenses, long hair falling to obscure his face. “Hey,” He encourages, face softening, “Whatever it is, we face it together, just like always.”

Sam exhales harshly and glares up at Dean, pain apparent in the lines around his eyes as he answers, “I kill you, Dean. You, Bobby, Jody – everyone. I ruin the whole goddamn world, is that what you want to know? The demon blood…” He pauses for a moment before laughing bitterly, “It all comes back to the demon blood.”

Dean takes a moment to think before he answers, cautious with his words, “You could never kill me, Sammy. You had Lucifer, _Lucifer_, riding shotgun and you were able to lock him down."

Sam’s hand slices through the air as he responds, frustration lining every word, “That was different, don’t you get it? Lucifer wasn’t me; he was just hitching a ride – the demon blood…it’s _a part of who I am_, and I can’t escape it. I never could.”

“So, what?” Dean demands, “You’re just gonna give up? Throw in the towel? Leave me alone to deal with this shit storm?”

“I don’t want to.” Sam whispers, “But I have no other choice. I’d kill myself if - ” He stops abruptly, regretting letting that thought slip free when Dean visibly blanches, his anger turning to horror in the space of a second.

“Sammy.” Dean chokes out, “Sammy, don’t…don’t talk like that. You can’t do that to me.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” Sam rushes to reassure him, clumsy fingers tug at the collar of his sleep rumpled flannel to expose the wound on his shoulder. The distraction works, Dean looks at it with surprise, and Sam can’t blame him.

“It looks the same.” Dean states the obvious, tearing his gaze away to look at his brother, a note of accusation in his words, “What the hell, Sam? The graveyard happened over a month ago! Why didn’t you tell me it wasn’t healing? Is it hurting you?”

Straightening his shirt, Sam shrugs, “There’s nothing you can do about it – and only sometimes. I have a theory.”

“Oh yeah? This theory have anything to do with why you _can’t_ _kill yourself?”_ Dean bites sarcastically, fresh anger on his face.

“I think I’m linked to Chuck.” Sam explains, ignoring the sarcasm, “What he said about the gun, what did he call it again…The Destroyer? I don’t think Chuck actually left when he disappeared that day.”

Dean just stares at him, at a loss for words.

Sam nods once, sharply, before continuing, “I can’t shake the feeling, man. He’s still here, and I can’t…if we’re linked and I die, that might kill him too. If that happens…do you see where I’m going with this?”

“Your dying might kill Chuck, and then the universe pops out of existence.” Dean picks up his brother’s train of thought instantly, his face bleak, “Sammy, you should’ve come to me, you don’t need to carry this alone.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you. I’ve been trying to find a way to break the link, but so far I’ve got nothin’.”

“Why? So you can go and off yourself once the connection is gone?” Dean snaps, “Cause that’s even worse than putting yourself in a coma, you asshole.”

“What else can I do?” Sam asks helplessly, palms facing upward as he looks at his older brother pleadingly, “Dean – I’m trapped with no way out.” His voice breaks and he buries the heel of his palms into his watering eyes, “I won’t become that, _that evil,_ again. I’d rather die – but I can’t even do_ that _without destroying the fucking universe. The spell is the only solution I have; I can’t hurt anyone if I’m unconscious. It’ll give you and the others time to break the link with Chuck.”

Dean takes a deep breath before reaching out and gripping his brother’s wrists, he tugs them down gently, “You wouldn’t bury me in the ocean when I thought there was no other way, and I won’t let you do this now. We will figure this out, Sam. I promise you.”

“How?”

The question is soft, and Dean notes that Sam sounds like he’s five years old again, scared and desperate for his big brother to make it all better.

“I don’t know.” He admits, a sad smile tugging at his lips, “But I’m gonna need your big geeky brain, so no checking out on me. Promise, Sammy. If you do this spell – all I’m gonna be focused on is bringing you back, and to hell with the rest of the world.”

“Dean.” Sam protests, voice shaking as he tries to pull away.

Dean squeezes the wrists beneath his calloused fingers, unyielding, “Promise me.”

Sam hesitates for a second before conceding with a small nod. He sags forward, and Dean snakes a palm around the back of his neck when the younger mans forehead comes to a rest against his sternum. He rests his chin on top the shaggy hair and let’s loose a slow breath of relief, “We will figure this out, little brother. Just like we always do.”

Sam says nothing, his breathing is unsteady as his shoulders hitch.

“I got you. I’ve got you, Sammy.”

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> .  
.  
.  
I had a tough time ending this one, because I wasn’t really looking for that happy little conclusion – I sort of picture this scene happening at the end of an episode, where it just fades to black and the credits roll.  
I hope everyone liked this, have a great day!  
Ashley


End file.
